


Daemons

by protaganope



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, The Golden Compass (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Gen, The Golden Compass & Hamilton AU, it's a fun little idea i've been messing with, that no-one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 04:06:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16674199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protaganope/pseuds/protaganope
Summary: The word "daemon" is an old one with several different meanings. In Christian writings the word is sometimes used to refer to a demon, or evil spirit. In Greek mythology, a daemon was a supernatural creature somewhere between god and man.In this world, daemons are more or less your soul worn on your sleeve. They appear as talking animal friends that accompany you wherever you go. As Philip Pullman once said, characters are "able to talk to their daemons, much like talking to yourself […] Like having a conversation with your conscience or your memory."Everyone has a daemon, but children's daemons can shapeshift to be any animal.When a child reaches maturity, their daemon settles into one permanent shape. This is thought to symbolise how, as we get older, our personality solidifies and settles.





	Daemons

**Author's Note:**

> Daemons can tell a lot about a person's personality – especially after the daemon settles on a shape. Certain groups of people have similar daemons.  
> For example, all witches' daemons are birds, which makes sense because witches fly and love their freedom. Servants' daemons often take the form of dogs, which we suppose points to a sort of friendly loyalty toward their bosses.  
> Usually, a soul will assume the opposing gender of their host-- but this is not always the case.

The claws of his daemon scrabbled on the wood of the boat, and Alexander Hamilton tried not to let the swaying cadences bother him. In his hand, he gripped his satchel tighter, before exiting his assigned quarters with a huff. Steadying himself was easy, his soul, on the other hand…

“Alexander! We’re nearly there!” Claws became talons that quickly morphed into pads before returning to claws once more. His daemon could never keep still. Jumping to the air, soaring, before shifting back had been a fun parlour trick when she’d first realised it, and even now it set a reminiscent smile into his cheeks. He walked up onto the top deck and took a moment to savour the wind running its fingers through his hair. 

She was right, though. The strip of land Alexander knew to be the new world was in clear view now, and he had long said his farewells to the warmth of his island home. He rubbed his hands together and made his way to the kitchen for a bite to eat. He had grown well acquainted with the staff during the time onboard, and though they had been skittish at first, they all reserved a fondness for him now. 

His daemon took a strange form, one with a large and grey bushy tail. She leaped from counter to counter, and next all Alexander could hear was loud munching. He rolled his eyes and ducked under the suspended meats to take some fruit from the basket left for him. 

Back out on the front deck, he finished eating the fruit and set to work on adding a moment to his diary. 

* * *

Hercules Mulligan was proud to say he liked the form his daemon had decided upon. Big, proud like himself, maybe a little too obvious but showing his best nature.

A bear. It was rather fitting, he supposed. According to some, he was as tall as one, after all. He downed the last of his drink and left money on the counter, exiting the public house with his daemon not far behind. America was much more accommodating for larger familiar, buildings wider and higher roofs than Europe. It meant a new kind of freedom for those with bigger daemons, one he appreciated more than he realised he would.

His daemon stood up on her back legs, and made a sound of discontent. Hercules followed her eye of sight to view a rather small man, a ways from him, looking rather worse for wear. He looked back at his familiar, who gave him an expectant look. He smiled. 

“Young man.” At Hercules’ call, the boy’s head shot up, looking around himself. Now, Hercules had a rather booming voice, so that was to be expected. His daemon made a low, pleased sound at his action, and so he beckoned the boy with one further motion. “You appear drained, your soul must be further than you realise.” 

“No sir,” the boy began, “She is quite in view. And fierce, too.” He held a sly grin upon his face, which made Hercules furrow his brow. It was a moment later that realisation did dawn upon him as he saw the perching of a bird upon the boy’s shoulder. It was a small thing, hidden by the dark locks of hair that did lay thick at the boy’s shoulders. His daemon chirped, strong, and Hercules laughed, loud. 

Hercules’ daemon sat down beside him with a thud, and the boy’s soul shifted into a kind of dog that sprawled at their feet.

“What do I call you, sir?” He asked in good nature. The boy’s eyes widened momentarily, before he answered, loud and proud. 

“Alexander Hamilton. And you, sir?”

“That’s a strong name, Hamilton. Spritely. Mulligan, Hercules.” 

“It is a pleasure.” He nodded, before springing the question he knew he must ask.

“Tell me, do you have a place to stay? You look too Egyptian for this place to be native.” He did not hide his eyes that looked Hamilton up on down, taking in the features of his face and the way he held what seemed to be most of his belongings at his side. 

“I am an alien, as you say, sir, from the more southern regions of where our good colonies are located.” He spoke hurriedly at this, his familiar shifting between numerous forms fast. 

“You and I are alike, then. I come here, too, from places influenced by the empire.” Hercules told him, hoping to assuage some of that nervousness. Hamilton looked at him with a peculiar expression, before finally answering him.

“I had a couple places of choice to rest in my mind’s eye, but I had not settled upon a definite. Have you a suggestion, sir?”

“Yes indeed, I have been looking for one such man to join me in renting a space. Would you be so able as to humour me?”

“It’s a deal, sir!” The excitement was writ clear upon his face, and his daemon’s bark of happiness showed his honesty well. 

Hercules’ soul steadied on four paws, and he knew it was time to go. 

* * *

 

Aaron Burr’s daemon was different from most. Not in outward appearances, no, she was a dark cat that did sleep almost constantly. 

The difference was that a cat is what she had always been. 

The rules of souls stated that they would only fix at a single form once the main body had reached maturity. In most workings of the law, that meant 21 years of age. 

He was 20, young and wondering, what that meant for him in the coming year. 

What with the discontent upon the colonies, the ever-rising tax of the British and their harsh legislation, there was talk of revolution. If it came to it, he was unsure of the path he would take. 

So, why? He would call himself settled, sure, but for his daemon to have never changed, even once…?

It would be vain or foolish or both, to boast at such an early form of adulthood. So he kept quiet. And he would not mention it. He would stay hidden, like shadow, and he would not enter into the problems of the new nation more than need be.

And yet—

“Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?”

* * *

 

Alexander couldn’t believe his luck. He’d never really had friends before. But here he was, chatting with a group of men he seemed to get along with well. 

There was Mulligan, of course, with his daemon sat back on its rump. As the oldest at thirty six, his soul had long decided the form she wanted to assume.

“You know, they’re thinking of redefining what age your daemon should’ve taken their final form.” There was Laurens, still swaying from intoxication. His daemon, currently a staggering pigeon, made a weak sound of agreement. “The average man signing the Declaration of Independence ages in at around 40, so the gap for maturity is being called into question.” Already twenty one, he was expecting his soul to settle, and she had given signs of such, in that most forms she was taking recently had been aquiline. That is, that was what John told them all.

The men slapped him on the back with a cheer, and conversation shifted for a moment onto the vague nature of their law. Maturity was when ones soul did choose one form to remain in, but with it never being a precise age, it was again difficult to fix laws around it. They drifted back into basic chat as their intoxication became stronger. 

“Yes, yes, let us- let us-“ there was Lafayette. Drinking seemed to have robbed him of the little English he had learnt in his short stay here. Hercules spoke up, finishing his line. 

“Let’s have another round, tonight.”

Lafayette was a lithe thing, taller than the best of them yet surely the youngest, at the small age of eighteen. His familiar matched him, unstable in the way of most teenagers. He had morphed into some form of fish as they’d been talking, and was swimming rather stilted in a cup of questionable-looking water given by the owner of the bar. But Lafayette’s health did not seem to worsen, so the men figured it was fine. 

Hamilton tried to ignore Burr’s quiet as he kicked back another round of drinks. Despite his appearance, could it be that his soul had already decided upon a form? The two of the seemed to be the same age, and yet, while his own familiar kept swinging violently between states, Burr’s had for the whole night remained a resting feline, static on the table beside him. 

As Alexander’s daemon took the form of a fox and pressed her face into his hand, pink tongue catching the alcohol running down his fingers, he couldn’t help but feel an inexplicable sense of sadness for the man. It made no sense, so he looked away and tried to focus on something else. 

He’d heard tales, of course. Who hadn’t? The Schuyler sisters were hard to ignore. 

Angelica’s daemon seemed to wrap around her neck as a scarf— an extraordinarily precious necklace, almost, scales in place of emerald diamond. Being a large snake, there wasn’t really any other way to keep it in sight in a ballroom such as this, he supposed. 

Hamilton was unsure as to what the youngest, Peggy, had as her soul. But that wasn’t what grasped his eye and consideration. 

The incredible Elizabeth Schuyler. 


End file.
